


Let Me In

by SquiggidWithShame



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anxiety, Black Eagles OT8, F/M, Ferdinand's Insistent Brightness and Bernadetta's Insistent Anxiety, Fluff, Kissing, Mildly Dubious Consent, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquiggidWithShame/pseuds/SquiggidWithShame
Summary: It takes a few nights, but eventually, one night, when I’m outside of her room and gazing up at the stars, I hear just the faintest of whispers on the other side of her door.“Ferdinand?” she asks. “Are you there?”I sit up immediately. “I am here, Bernadetta.”“Why are you doing this?”I smile wryly and look up at the stars again. “Perhaps I also wish that someone would notice my pain.”
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley
Kudos: 13





	Let Me In

**Author's Note:**

> Written in first person because it came out that way idk either dude.

I can see it in her eyes. The way that they light up for a second before all the fire dies down—so suddenly, so painfully. And then she scampers away to her room, and I don’t see her until class the next day.

I want to make sure she’s OK. I want her to know that someone notices her, even when she tries so desperately to hide.

Maybe my ambitiousness hasn’t ever worked out for me. Maybe it’s only ever gotten me in trouble, when I challenge the Empress-To-Be and undoubtedly lose again. But it’s the only thing that I have now, at this point, this drive to do what I want to do, what I think is right.

After dinner, I find the door to her room and knock.

“Bernadetta?” I call through the wood.

A squeak. “F-Ferdinand? Is that you?”

“Bernadetta, please, would you allow me in your room?”

“Why?”

“I… I worry about you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about! I’m fine!”

I sigh. “I see the look in your eyes. I can see that something’s not quite right.”

“What’s wrong with my eyes? I swear I’m not giving you the stink-eye or anything!”

“Bernadetta, please,” I try again, clenching my fist. “I am not here to bully you. I’m here to help you.”

A silence falls between us through the door. Then, quietly, “I don’t need any help.”

It’s true that she doesn’t need it, probably. But that doesn’t mean I won’t provide it.

“I see,” I say, dropping down to the steps in front of her door. “Then I shall be waiting here for you.”

“Waiting? For what? Are you going to kill me in my sleep?”

“Of course not. If anything, I wish to protect you in your sleep.” I shift on the pavement, making myself comfortable. “Every night, I will wait here at this time. If you ever wish to speak your mind, then I will gladly lend an ear."

She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t say anything for the rest of the night.

She doesn’t say anything the next night—or the next. But on the fourth day, she opens the door, just a crack, just enough to peek out, and I see a glimpse of her messy hair, her big, frightened eyes, before she squeaks and shuts the door again. Maybe she’s just confirming that I’m here, the guard dog that I’ve become, but maybe this is her reaching out, even if it is just one quick glance.

That one look, as short as it is, fuels me with confidence. For once, I know I’m doing the right thing.

It takes a few nights, but eventually, one night, when I’m outside of her room and gazing up at the stars, I hear just the faintest of whispers on the other side of her door.

“Ferdinand?” she asks. “Are you there?”

I sit up immediately. “I am here, Bernadetta.”

“Why are you doing this?”

I smile wryly and look up at the stars again. “Perhaps I also wish that someone would notice my pain.”

“Why are you in pain?”

I sigh as memories onslaught my vision. “Have you ever tried so hard to prove yourself to someone, or even just to yourself? Have you ever tried to prove that you are capable and worthy of recognition or responsibility, but destiny has locked you in your place?”

“I don’t know if I’ve tried to prove anything to anyone, but…” A shift on the other side of the door. “I do feel… stuck.”

I scoot closer to the door. “You should not feel stuck. Neither of us should. We should be allowed to pursue what we want to do and be who we want to be.”

“Maybe. But maybe nobody wants me to be who I want to be.”

I blink, and a poignant feeling stabs my heart.

“I do,” I say.

She snaps. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Bernadetta, I—”

“Go away!”

I hear the quick padding of little feet and then a soft flop onto a bed.

Perhaps that is all for tonight, then.

The next day is a weekend, so I don’t see Bernadetta even in class. After ending our conversation the way we did, I can feel a dull pain in my chest, but—as is my instinct by now—I decide to turn that into something productive.

Her words hang over my head. “Nobody wants me to be who I want to be.” That can’t possibly be true, and I will prove it. 

The Black Eagles are a disjointed bunch, with its mix of different classes and backgrounds—quite literally different cultures, considering Petra—but there is a sense of solidarity among us, an understood fierce loyalty to each other.

Petra, hunter that she is, views Bernadetta as prey, but not in an entirely demeaning way. With the way she says it, it’s clear that there is some warmth in her words, as if Bernadetta is a cute pet rather than an animal to kill.

Hubert seems to enjoy teasing her, but even with his dark eyes and sinister smile, it feels more like an older brother teasing a younger sister than something with true malice. There’s warmth in that cold smile of his.

Linhardt, of course, only yawns in response and tells me to go away.

When I visit her door once again at night, I feel as if I’m ready for battle, armed with compliments.

“Bernadetta, I am here once again,” I announce at her doorstep.

A mumble. “I thought I told you to go away.”

“I will not. I have been both praised and punished for my persistence, but I cannot apologize for who I am.”

Somehow, that elicits a giggle from the other side of the door. “I admire that about you, Ferdinand. How you can so confidently be yourself.”

“You should confidently be yourself, as well,” I continue with an open chest. “You should know that your classmates admire you, too.”

A soft thunk on the other side of the door. “That’s not true. Nobody could like me.”

“No,  _ that _ is not true.”

“Nobody could like me, because nobody knows me,” Bernadetta explains.

“That is also not true,” I insist. “Dorothea thinks you are adorable and hilarious, and she wishes to spend more time with you. Caspar notices your reclusivity, and he wants to show you grand sights that will inspire you to explore. Even Edelgard, as much as I disagree with her on other issues, supports you and believes in you.”

“None of that matters!” Bernadetta exclaims. “Everyone just pities me. Everyone just thinks I’m some dumb, weak girl. And they’re… they’re—right.”

The door isn’t enough to stifle the hiccup in her words, the sob at the end of her sentence. For the first time, I curse the wall separating us. My hands are against the wooden surface, gripping at nothing, and I wish they were touching her instead.

“Bernadetta,” I whisper. “Please open this door.”

“No.”

“Please.”

A few seconds pass by, and then, after a sniff, the door opens.

Bernadetta’s on the floor, curiously. It seems she’s just reached up enough to open the door, but then she sank back down to the ground. She’s already a short girl, but seeing her curled up on the floor makes her seem even smaller, like a cat waiting by an entrance. The poor girl’s hair is unkempt more than usual, and with the bags under her eyes and her slightly sunken-in face, she looks like she hasn’t slept or eaten in days.

The most noticeable thing, though, is her bloodshot eyes, the fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, and her small hand covering her mouth to hold back whimpers that escape her lips along with shudders of her body.

I drop to my knees in front of her—still much bigger than she is, but at least I’m not towering over her anymore.

“Please don’t cry,” I say as softly as I can.

“See?” Bernadetta hiccups, wiping away her tears. “You pity me, too.”

“I don’t pity you. I care about you. I like you.”

“You can’t like me. No one can like me, it’s impossible—”

By this point, I can tell that she’s going to ramble on, overcome with this cloud of self-doubt, until she tells me to go away again. I have to put a stop to this. It seems my words aren’t helping at all, so I do the next thing I can think of.

With one hand on the side of her tear-ridden face, I kiss her.

When I pull back—slowly, softly, not wanting to scare her off (like prey, Petra said)—she’s finally stopped rambling. Her body is still, too, no more violent shakes from held back tears, only the occasional shudder from a hiccup. Her eyes, always so wide and terrified, are big and doe-eyed as she looks at me in shock.

“I don’t think you understand quite how much I like you,” I whisper.

Her eyes somehow widen even more before her face erupts into a bright blush.

“Y-you… you just...” she babbles, touching the redness in her cheeks.

“I did,” I laugh, stroking a thumb across her cheek. “And I will do it again, if it will calm you down.”

“Calm me down? How am I supposed to calm down after that?” Bernadetta exclaims, bewildered.

I laugh more heartily this time, letting the light feeling bloom throughout my body.

“Don’t laugh!” Bernadetta demands with a pout. “In fact, get out of my room!”

“No, I will not,” I simply say.

“I’m never letting you in again.”

“You will not have to, for I will not leave in the first place.”

She huffs and turns her head away from me. Even if she’s mad at me, it’s much better than seeing her cry.

After the initial shock, and after the laughs that have filled the room, the tension I first felt when entering the small room has lifted. It’s much easier the second time to lean in and kiss her again gently, and my heart flutters when I feel her mouth move against mine in just the slightest of movements, the most hesitant returned kiss.

When we pull away this time, her big, gray eyes have softened, and there’s the smallest of smiles on her lips. But it’s not her smile or her calmed composure that makes me feel the happiest. It’s the hint of confidence in her eyes, the sprouting of hope and the belief in herself that makes me sure that, for once, I did do something right.


End file.
